


Forfeit

by PandaFlower



Category: Naruto
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kinda, M/M, Prompt 1: Too hot!, Public Hand Jobs, it is a training ground no matter how secluded, slowly improving smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower
Summary: There were worse forfeits to losing a spar, Tobirama absently mused.He could safely say this was the first time someone was ever brave enough, or stupid enough, to request sex from him though.





	Forfeit

_There were worse forfeits to losing a spar_ , Tobirama absently mused, yanking at Madara’s sash. His gaze raked hungrily over Madara’s bared chest, lust heavy in his mouth.

He could safely say this was the first time someone was ever brave enough, or stupid enough, to request sex from him though.

The first touch of slick leather on hot skin had him swallowing thickly, arching to feel the drag.

A pleased hum in his ear, followed by lips. Tobirama breathed out a soft noise made sharp with want, and turned to catch them with his own.

Madara retreated from his reach, grinning when he growled in frustration at being thwarted. He grabbed for long hair and pulled, arching up into a proper heated kiss that ended too soon, trailing down to nip his throat instead.

“You’re so grumpy, Senju, one would think you weren't right where you want to be,” Madara murmured in his ear, dark and amused and reveling in the situation a little too much for Tobirama’s taste. Madara was always a little much for Tobirama’s taste.

Madara loosely cradled Tobirama’s dick in one gloved hand, lazily running his thumb along the vein on the underside, and Tobirama sighed at the touch. Head canting back as his neck and shoulders loosened, relaxing back onto the grassy ground of their secluded little clearing, the trees knocked aside by their previous sparring to let the sun shine through.

“You’re hardly a gracious winner, Uchiha,” Tobirama said with a throaty hum, threading his hands further into Madara’s long hair. His blood was still running hot and high from their previous exertions, sweat beading and running down, dripping off, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they stole the heat of his skin even as desire stoked it up again. “As always, you’re just off putting enough to make this difficult.”

Madara snorted, his other hand brushing up Tobirama’s shirt, caressing the firm muscle of his stomach, lightly tracing the definition with his fingertips when it clenched reflexively. Tobirama shivered. “You like difficult. Anything that comes easy bores you to tears.” He tutted, pressing teeth to the thin skin at the corner of Tobirama’s jaw.

Tobirama tilted his head to encourage him, stretching out beneath Madara’s weight pinning him down. Even half-undressed they were pressed so close together not even the cool wind could get between them. Tobirama felt he could probably melt from their combined heat, relaxed and languid and panting for breath.

Then Madara tightened his grip, not stroking so much as massaging, and Tobirama’s thoughts scattered to the bright sparks traveling up his spine.

He arched into the slick grip as much as Madara’s place on his thighs would allow, feeling grass tickle the small of his back where his shirt rode up. He tugged on Madara’s hair again, not so much a demand as merely encouragement. Sometimes it was nice, to take their time like this. To touch and feel and take like they had all day for it.

“You’re enough to make anyone rethink their stance on taking it easy,” Tobirama retorted when he had breath and mental function back, drawing Madara into a kiss with considerably more teeth.

Madara moaned into it, murmuring, “You say the sweetest things when you’re on your back.”

Tobirama grimaced at that and tightened his grip until Madara grunted unhappily, pulling away from the kiss with a narrow look. “And you,” Tobirama growled, “wouldn’t know sweet if it made an attempt on your life.”

“Oh?” A thumb rubbed a hard circle onto the head of his dick and Tobirama twitched hard, moaning behind clenched teeth. Madara jerked himself loose from suddenly slack fists with a toss of his head. “Must have killed it with the rest of the assassins. Pity.”

“Prick,” Tobirama breathed shakily.

“Yes, I’m holding it,” Madara replied, thumbing under the head as if Tobirama wouldn’t understand the joke otherwise.

Tobirama rolled his eyes and grabbed for the laces of Madara’s pants only to be halted as Madara grabbed his wrist. He looked up in annoyed confusion and Madara flushed, bringing Tobirama’s hand up to brush a quick kiss over the palm. “Later. I don’t want be distracted right now.” Madara leaned forward to brush another kiss over his mouth, giving his dick a proper stroke in the same motion and swallowing his moan. “I just want to touch you.”

Tobirama shifted restlessly, nerves alight and nowhere to move with Madara astride his thighs and pinning his wrist to ticklish grass. Madara stroked him sweet and hot and slow, and Tobirama moaned again.

“Can I?” Madara asked breathily, catching his gaze and holding it. “Can I just touch you? Feel you under me, in my hands?”

His breath hitched on the next stroke, free hand snapping up to cup the back of Madara’s head and hold him still, forehead to forehead. He rolled his hips up into the slicked leather of Madara’s glove, a whine building in the back of his throat.

“You already are now _don’t stop_ ,” Tobirama snapped. Honestly, did the man need to monologue during sex too? There was a fire under Tobirama’s skin and a furnace growing in his gut with every stroke, shivering despite, or because of, the insistent heat, like if he just inhaled deep enough he could breathe it out. Ignite the air to match the heat they were both radiating.

Couldn’t Madara see that he was struggling to _think_ let alone understand?

Tobirama arched and Madara moved with him, riding the way his body writhed as Madara stroked him closer and closer to completion. Tobirama pulled him into a kiss as his breath began to hitch in his throat, his thighs drawing taut like the burning in his abdomen.

“You’re so beautiful on the edge like this, gods, I could look at you forever,” Madara murmured against his mouth, stealing pecks between harsh gasps.

“Is that your way of asking to go steady?” Tobirama managed a teasing grin, eyes hooded in pleasure.

Madara stole his mouth in reply, twisting his hand around the head to elicit more of those delicious shivers. Tobirama whined. Without his noticing he’d squirmed free of Madara’s other hand, or maybe he let go, to clutch Madara’s shoulder, yanking desperately at the fabric of his shirt, wanting closer, wanting _more._

Orgasm was bright when it hit, a starburst of static white behind his eyes. Was heat, and melting, and fingers unclenching to fall limp in the grass.

Was desperation for air that wasn’t hot and moist from his own body heat, his own sweat, the press of afternoon sun and the heavy humidity of imminent rain.

Was blinking back to awareness to wide, red, spinning eyes above a wide, toothy grin.

“Either take your pants off or get off,” Tobirama growled. How unfortunate that overt smugness interfered with his afterglow.

“Are those my only options?” Madara wisely leaned back to give him some space. “Get naked or come in my pants?”

Tobirama groaned, “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”

“Certainly,” Madara hummed. “I only just started savoring victory.”

That’s it.

As soon as Tobirama was finished wringing this moment out for all the pleasure he can grab, Madara was going to die.

_Count on it._


End file.
